Chapter 4: Armoring

Ron and Antonia went the armory the next day, to get Ron his own weapons. It wasn't exactly like Ron suspected. . .

"His arm span is longer than average. . . ." Said the armorer.

"Yea, no kidding. Get him the longest sword you have."

"Longest sword? Shouldn't you start him out with something less advanced?"

Antonia glared at the man. "I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, ma'am." The armorer left into a store room.

"This is really uncomfortable for me." Ron announced.

"Tough."

Ron was standing on a platform, arms stretched out, and without a shirt. "I'd like to see you up here like this."

Antonia raised her eyebrows.

"That's not what I meant! I meant it like. . . . you up here because I'm up here, I don't know! You know what I meant!"

The slayer laughed. "Yes, I do, I'm just trying to give you a hard time."

"Yea, I noticed."

"You may have noticed that it's really easy to annoy you, because it is."

The armorer returned. He handed the sword to Antonia. "Perfect. Get him a longbow. A fairly large quiver as well. I'll choose the other blades, thank you."

"Yes, ma'am." He left once more.

Antonia walked so she was in front of Ron. He took in a sharp intake when she touched his shoulders back. She eyed him, trying to keep a straight face. She then pressed the blade against his upper chest, to see if it fit his arm span. "Perfect." She removed the blade from his skin, and put it back into its sheath. "You can put your shirt back on now."

"Tell me why, exactly, I had to have my shirt off to get fitted for a sword?"

"Shirt cloth makes the arm span look smaller, therefore the person receiving the blade won't have a right fit."

"Yea. . . I knew that."

"Then why did you ask?"

"It was supposed to be a joke. . ."

"Oh, well"-She gave him a fake laugh-"So funny."

Ron rolled his eyes, and hopped off the platform. "Can we go now?"

"No, we cannot."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Why?"

"Because I need to get your bow. You are my apprentice, Master Weasley, I must arm you."

The armorer returned again, the longbow in his hands, the quiver on his back. He handed them to her.

"Thank you." She turned to Ron. "Now we can leave."

They returned home, and Antonia led Ron into a locked basement. In it, were more weapons. Daggers and knives line the walls in locked cases, swords and axes on stands. Pistols and clubs were on the wall as well, but not in locked cases.

"Whoa. . . are these all yours?"

"Family heirlooms." She placed the quiver on his back, the bow on his shoulder, and the sword in his hands. "You cannot look like an outsider, so you cannot wear those clothes." She walked to a door, opened it, and came back out, a variety of men's clothing in her arms. Antonia walked back to Ron, and dumped them into his arms. "That'll suit you." Next, she walked to the locked cases, and examined the blades. She motioned for him to give her his hands, making him hold his load with one arm. Murmuring to herself, she looked at Ron's hand, turning it over and over. She measured it against her own, and dropped it by his side. Picking out four blades in different sizes, into sheaths, and then onto Ron's already large load. The small army knives she took, she kept with her.

Then, her legs took her to a bunch of war axes. She pulled out a one-headed axe, and placed it on his load. She looked at him, and adopted a surprised look.

"You can hold all of that?"

"Yea. This is nothing. Try holding back a feisty little sister, that's hard."

She laughed, and walked to the next weapon he would need.

In grand total, Ron's load consisted of two swords-one regular, one broad-, two pistols, one club, one quiver, one bow, a lot of arrows, one axe, four daggers, two knives, seven shirts and pants, and two pairs of knee-high boots. She told him to change into a pair of pants and a shirt, and he did. Not in front of her though.

"Good fit. Try on the shoes."

"Alright." Ron sat down on a chair, and slipped on the boots. The were just a bit too small. "A little tight." He explained.

"Okay," She got up, and went back into the small room.

Ron whistled while he waited. He tapped his foot on the ground, until he heard a voice from the small room. Curious, he walked to the room, and caught a shock.

The room was filled with music-like things. Instruments, stacks of sheet music, everything. She was bent over, moving her hips to the beat of her own tune.

Ron choked back the urge to say, 'Nice voice', and said, "Did you find them?"

"Ron!" Antonia jumped, and almost threw a shoe at him.

"You called me 'Ron'. Something is wrong. You didn't want me to come in here, did you?"

"N-No!"

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing!" She yelled, and ran past him, almost knocking him over. He watched her run up the stairs and then heard a door slam.

"Great!"